WSP 030

Campfire Stories

Jeh wasn’t entirely sure whose idea it had been to camp out under the stars rather than in the various balloon whales, but she wasn’t complaining. Something about a handful of people huddling around a fire was just cozy in a way the artificial gondolas weren’t. Or maybe it just reminded her of her time in the forest, a sort of nostalgia.

Whatever the reason, she was grinning wildly as she held a stick with some unidentified chunk of meat on the end, slowly roasting it over the flame with several others. Vaughan, Blue, Seskii, and Mary were there, but Envila and Margaret had decided to join them. Jeremiah was sleeping—“His old bones need it,” Margaret had said. Pepper would probably have come but she had work to do through the night and was likely going to be woken up extra early for preparations. The Purple Cube was close, and she was instrumental in keeping Slashy under control.

Jeh didn’t mind—she wasn’t overly attached to Pepper, barely knew her really, though she could tell they were kindred spirits.

Blue was currently not roasting a chunk of unidentified meat, but rather a piece of purring happy peach. The purrs actually increased in intensity as the peach was heated, until it was more like a singing peach. She brought it back to her muzzle and sniffed it. “Mmmmm…”

Seskii pulled her stick back and plucked the meat right off the stick with her hands. She bit into it, and then carefully pulled it out while breathing heavily. “H-h-hot!”

“And we see the inherent flaw in gari design,” Margaret said, picking her own piece of meat off the stick with her hand and holding it in the air. “Heat-resistant hands. Not heat-resistant faces.”

“I think the bigger flaw is that we don’t have noses,” Seskii said. “An entire sense… gone!”

“We can also impale ourselves with our gauntlet spikes if we’re particularly stupid. Which a good number are.”

“Well you’d have to actively sharpen them and fall very awkwardly to do any real damage, they do point away from you.”

“If we’re talking about racial flaws, we unicorns instinctively light up our horns out of fear.” Blue took a bite out of her peach. “Blinds us pretty effectively.”

“You have nothing,” Envila added. “Every bone in my body is exceptionally fragile, the natural state of my limbs is so delicate it requires an intense exercise routine to keep them anything close to usable, and our eyes are huge targets that can be sniped from quite a distance. Not to mention if our wing membrane gets damaged it takes a very long time to heal naturally. Also, our stomachs are rather delicate.” She pulled back her stick, investigating the green plast pods she was roasting. “And in my opinion plast-based food never roasts properly.”

Vaughan rolled his eyes. “Sure, you all have it rough.”

“It can be said that our ‘defects’ and ‘weaknesses’ give us challenges to overcome, though,” Envila said. “I would not be the woman I am today without such a seemingly insurmountable obstacle to overcome. Gari have to learn to live in a world with smells and thus are often called to rely on others, a humbling experience. Unicorns develop self-control to suppress their own instincts, gaining a cool head. Then, of course, there are humans.” She embedded the back of her stick in the ground so as to let her food cool, fixing Vaughan with her gaze. “Tell me, what do you think the weakness of a human is?”

Vaughan blinked. “Hmm…”

Mary thought about this as well. “You know, I’m not sure. I’ve often heard it said that humans are the ‘normal’ ones, with no advantages or disadvantages.”

“Our backs. Our backs suck,” Vaughan said.

“All humanoids have that problem,” Margaret pointed out.

“Well, my back is currently sore, so it’s what I’m thinking about.”

At this point, they heard a rustling in the trees near their campfire. Everyone turned to see a pair of eyes reflecting the light of the fire. The eyes belonged to something small, but as it was shrouded in darkness, nobody could tell for sure.

“…Hello there, little one,” Envila said. She held out a hand and gestured for the owner of the eyes to step into the light.

This was apparently enough. Slowly, but surely, a child stepped into the light. A boy, human, with ice-blue hair, dressed in a simple dirty animal fur. He approached tentatively.

“A child from a Wild Kingdom…” Mary said, eyes widening.

“A brave one, at that,” Margaret said. “Most Wild Kingdoms are single-race… I’m surprised he’s coming out and not running away.”

Envila made no such comment and instead plucked a piece of meat off of Mary’s stick, offering it to the child. He slowly grabbed it and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Is he starving?” Blue asked.

Envila shook her head. “He looks well-fed. Maybe he just thought it smelled good.”

The boy sat down next to the fire, continuing to munch on his meat.

“Or maybe he just wished for the heat of flame.”

The boy no longer looked even slightly afraid, he just looked at everyone expectantly.

“I also do not believe he can understand a word we say.”

“Well, guess that means he won’t get to hear any of our stories,” Mary said.

“Stories?” Blue asked.

“Well, usually when you meet someone new and you sit around a fire, you swap stories.”

“I thought it was specifically scary stories?” Margaret asked.

“No?” Mary tilted her head. “Just stories of things travelers have encountered on the road, or stories of the woods.”

“Well half of our stories would be redundant anyway,” Blue said. “What would I talk about, the Wizard Space Program?”

“My stories would most definitely last the entire night,” Envila suggested. “I have many not even Jeh has heard.”

“Her stories really are the best,” Jeh said.

“Would be a little unfair to have her tell everything,” Mary added. “The tradition is to go around in a circle.”

“I’m sure all of us know a story or two that didn’t happen to us,” Margaret said. “There are many tall tales, legends, and big fish stories that came through our house, surely you all have some too.”

“Hmm…” Vaughan scratched his beard. “I believe I have something in mind…”

“Do books count?” Blue asked. “There’s a bunch of books published in Axiom that I like, and I’m thinking one of those will work great here…”

Margaret shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m just trying to egg you guys to do something.”

Jeh nodded. “Please tell stories. I like stories. I don’t really have any of my own…”

“In that case…” Mary said, a small smile crawling up her face. “I… do know a creepy story. One about a farmer… and the Beast in the Woods.”

~~~

The Beast in the Woods

Before the Kingdom of Kroan was properly founded, there were many towns and villages that existed in complete isolation from one another. Sometimes there weren’t even enough people to call it a proper town—just a single farm with a family or two working the land to survive. Such was the case with farmer Morgan and his family. He was a human with a great understanding of the land and a deep-seated desire to protect his family at all costs. He had a wife and four children, all four of whom were grown so he was constantly on the lookout for travelers so that his kids could potentially get spouses. So far, though, none had come through with any prospects or word of prospects. This wasn’t exactly unexpected, as there were no proper roads into the farm, just a foot-trodden path that was generally overgrown. People could only come across this house by accident.

The six of them were truly alone.

But aside from the fact that he wasn’t getting any grandkids anytime soon, Morgan was content with his life. With his expertise, they were never short on food, and while their life lacked excitement, there was something to be said for stability.

One day, the youngest daughter went for a walk in the woods. She was no little girl, as you might usually expect from these stories, but a grown woman who was perhaps a little headstrong. She was the family’s best hunter, and while meat was not necessary for their survival, it was the closest thing they had to a luxury and so she took great pride in her work. This day she wasn’t explicitly hunting, but she always carried her spear with her in case she saw an opportunity. Her goal this time around was just to walk through the forest and enjoy the wilderness.

She was the first one to see evidence of the Beast. A tree, mangled as if by a massive claw, torn to shreds and with splinters spread everywhere. She heard a great roar somewhere in the distance like no animal she had ever heard, one much deeper than even the largest of predators.

She recognized that perhaps trying to find such a Beast would be a foolish idea, so she returned home with a piece of the tree and showed it to her father. He was concerned, but not overly so, for while the forest had no predators they did occasionally run into animals they had never seen before. Such things never showed up again and were likely just traveling creatures passing through. He did not expect to hear anything about the Beast again.

But then, months later, the eldest came running back to the farm, a large gash torn across his left arm. He described being out looking for bark from the sage tree so his mother could refill her spice stores. However, instead, he came across a bunch of mangled trees, a whole grove of them, dry, withered, and heavily clawed. He heard the exact same growl his sister had, but it had been much closer.

At that point, he had turned to leave, but he heard leaves rustling. Something chased him. He didn’t look back, but a dry claw had struck him in his arm as he fled, leading to the injury.

The man recovered, but now Morgan was concerned. He crafted weapons and told everyone to carry them if they ever went out into the forest. His eldest daughter created bows and arrows for everyone, and they started training with them—in case the Beast ever decided to come for them.

There was no sign of the Beast for quite some time. But one day, the youngest daughter found mangled trees once again and heard the roar. Armed with a bow, spear, and thick furs for armor, she decided to try and face the beast, at least temporarily to get a good look at it. Such a look was denied her—all she saw was a bony, brown claw larger than she was reaching out of the tree line. She thrust her spear forward, skewering the hand, and it retreated—but it took the spear with it so she decided it was time to run.

Naturally, Morgan crafted even more spears, including extras in case more were lost. That said, the Beast had been skewered—while it was just the hand, many creatures bled out from slight wounds out in the wilds. He held out hope that the Beast was dead.

This was wishful thinking. His younger son encountered the Beast once more, finding mangled trees closer to the farmhouse than they had ever been before. He ran the moment he saw them, which he said saved him since the Beast pursued him immediately. He swore that he saw at least three of the knobby hands reaching out to him.

How large was this creature?

Whatever it was, it was a clear danger to them. Sightings kept occurring closer and closer to the farmhouse. Spears and arrows would be let loose into the creature, but it would often get strikes on the family.

Morgan decided enough was enough when the youngest son lost a finger to the Beast. He decided the only way they could get any peace and safety was if they killed their tormentor. He crafted the best weapons he could, but he felt as though it wouldn’t be enough. So he went into the basement and pulled out the family’s prized possession—a Red crystal the size of his chest that they used to heat their home over the winter. The Beast may have been many things, but it was still a beast, and magic was beyond such things. He intended to burn it.

He and his youngest daughter set out with the express intent of killing it. For the first time, they went into the woods looking for it.

It was not hard to find mangled trees. The moment they approached said trees, they heard the roar—but they did not turn back. They moved forward, plunging deeper and deeper into the twisted grove. The Beast did not attack them—it must have been wary of the Red crystal strapped to Morgan’s back.

Morgan didn’t accept this state of affairs. This Beast needed to die, and if it was afraid… they would flush it out. It lived among the mangled trees—dry, cracked trees that would be easy to set on fire. So he used his will to set one of them alight.

The moment he did so, every single mangled tree around them moved. The twisted, shredded wood unraveled like some kind of weave, opening up into large, knobby claws, all directed toward the single tree that was on fire. Despite being on fire, this did not stop the tree from also unfolding into a massive claw.

It was only then that Morgan understood what the Beast was. It was no beast at all.

It was the forest itself.

Realizing what a fool he had been, he nonetheless fought back. Every hand was made of dry, bony wood and could easily burn. His daughter held the hands back with her spears while he burned them away, reducing many claws to ashes.

But they were but two humans fighting a forest. To a being of such size, losing a hand or two was of no concern. They kept coming, and coming; even as Morgan and his daughter tried to leave, for they were far too deep within the trees. And now that they had set fire to the forest, there would be no mercy.

A claw took a chunk out of Morgan’s back, severing the Red crystal from his body. He somehow managed to stand back up, ready to beat back the hands with his spear.

The hand lifted the Red crystal into the air, and then did the one thing it should not have been able to do.

It burned them. Flames licked across their flesh, doing unto them the very same thing they had done unto the forest. There was nothing they could do as they were reduced to ashes under the eyeless gaze of the forest.

Soon, they were no more, and the forest shattered the Red crystal.

Without the heat of the Red crystal, the rest of the family could not survive the winter.

But the forest remained. To this day, some of its trees become gnarled and murderous, looking like victims of murder themselves, but this is a deception. The dead trees are the most dangerous, so stay wary of them when you venture out into the forest.

~~~

“…I never saw anything like that in the forest…” Jeh said.

“It is just a story,” Mary said. “I think to warn people to stay away from diseased trees. After all, even plant monsters can’t cast magic.”

“Actually…” Envila leaned back. “I have encountered a similar creature. Deep beneath the ground on which Descent sits, there was an entire ‘forest’ that was one spirited creature. Now, this ‘forest’ wasn’t murderous and was actually somewhat helpful in our adventure down there, but such beings do exist.”

Mary’s eyes widened. “R-really?”

“Really.”

A slightly haunted look came over everyone at the fire… except for the boy, who had no idea what the story was about and had just enjoyed listening. Smiling, he took a bite out of a hunk of meat he had been given.

Margeret’s face slowly returned to a soft smile. “That was a perfect story, Mary.”

“Thank you!”

“Now… I believe it’s my turn. There are many who fear the dark and the creatures of the dark… but even they pale in comparison to The True Darkness.”

~~~

The True Darkness

This tale is attached to no land in particular. If it ever happened, where and when has been completely lost. All that is known is that there was a great Tower of Knowledge that sat far from any civilization, a Tower that made all those who visited it forget about its existence. Within, the answers to every question could be found. Books on every subject lined the shadowy brick walls. Tame knowledge, such as the proper recipe for roast tiger puffin, existed within its walls, to be sure. But there was also forbidden knowledge. Tomes on the powers of the gods. The secrets of the Unknown Goddess, the cataclysmic spells of Cora, the deepest rituals of Eyda, and even the secrets of Dia’s great saints, their sins and their failings, no matter how depraved.

But all of this is standard. These secrets are things you can think of, dream up. You can imagine a spell that can wipe out a city, a shadow that can devour your mind in the blink of an eye, or even a great saint who was a serial murderer.

The Tower of Knowledge contained information far, far more terrible than this. Beyond even what spirited minds could comprehend. Things that would drive men to madness for simply knowing. Information that turned the very books they were written on into raving monsters that thirsted for blood. Words that had minds of their own, words that could only be locked away in a place that sealed memory, for nothing else could contain them.

Yet, despite this danger, there was a Custodian of the Tower. I do not know her race. Some people claim she was but a human, others claim she was the Unknown Goddess herself, protecting the world from that which should never be known. I don’t think either true—the Custodian could not be a mortal, nor could a goddess devote herself entirely to one place. Whatever the case may be, the Custodian spent her years among the forbidden knowledge, managing through unknown means not to fall to the perilous knowledge within.

She knew every shelf, every hall, every book. Everything had a place, even the ravenous books that sought to devour people, they were chained and where they should be. It was her purpose here to keep everything in order and, rarely, to guide the pure-hearted to the knowledge they needed.

So when, one day, there was an extra book in the collection, the Caretaker was deeply concerned.

A book going missing was not a great concern, a few of them had tricks within their pages that allowed them to escape from her sights for a time, but she had learned how to hunt and capture them well. They would always be back where they belonged before the day was out.

But the presence of a new book… one she hadn’t placed there, that was unnerving in a way she couldn’t describe.

She immediately tried to explain how it had gotten there. There had been no visitors to the Tower of Knowledge since the last time she checked this location. It should have been impossible, so she consulted some of the books that contained knowledge of the Tower itself—after all, every piece of knowledge rested somewhere within the Tower.

The books had possible explanations. But there was no knowledge about the new book. No information on what was contained within it. Not a hint of how it had come to be.

This was impossible.

Yet the Custodian still knew, she still knew the potential dangers of the book were too great. She could not read it.

So, she began to look for an apprentice.

She waited, carefully, for the right person to come. Only those pure of heart were permitted access to the stores of the Tower, and most of those legends were not suitable to be her apprentice. However, one day, such a man did appear. Before he left, she asked him to return after he had completed his business, in order to learn the craft of caring for the knowledge. He agreed. When he left, he forgot the Tower existed, like all the others, but in the back of his mind, he knew he needed to return. About a year later, he returned and became her apprentice.

She taught him everything she knew. How to watch the books, how to catch the ones that ran away, and how to protect any visitors so they didn’t end up suffering because of the curses within its walls. It took many, many years, but eventually her apprentice could care for the Tower much as she had.

Then, one day, she decided it was time. She took the impossible book that likely contained the darkest secret in the entire world, and locked herself in a room with it—a room that only her apprentice had the key to. He was not to open it until she was done, and he had to take the proper precautions in case she still needed to be contained.

So he waited for her to knock.

And waited.

The knock never came.

A week later, he opened the door of his own free will, naturally taking all the necessary precautions.

The Custodian was gone. The room was exactly the same as it had been when it was locked up; no signs of a struggle, dark magic, or even anywhere she could have gone. The book itself was neatly closed, front cover facing up, on the table.

The new Custodian picked up the book and put it back on the shelf it had first appeared on.

And he began to look for an apprentice.

~~~

“So the book forces everything into an eternal loop?” Jeh asked, tilting her head.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Margaret said, giving her a knowing smile. “After all, the knowledge within might have nothing to do with the Custodian or even anything within this world. Whatever it is, it is the deepest secret, beyond the knowledge of anything else. The only way to know… is to open it.”

Blue shivered. “That would drive me insane…” She paused for a moment. “Or… more insane.”

“All of us are a little off our rockers,” Seskii said. “Except Mary. Hi Mary!”

Mary waved awkwardly at Seskii, who was sitting right next to her.

Blue turned her head to the wild child who was still sitting and eating peacefully. “Wonder if his parents are worried about him.”

“Not like we have any idea where they could be,” Vaughan said. “The Wild Kingdoms are expansive, and he could be far from home.”

“What are we going to do with him if he never leaves?”

“What we did with Jeh, presumably.”

Jeh blinked. “Hang on, I didn’t sign up for a brother.”

“He may be at home here in the forest, even all alone,” Margaret added. “Like I was.”

“Wonder what kind of stories he could tell…” Mary thought aloud.

“I don’t know about him specifically,” Vaughan said. “But I know of a story told by the natives of the Tempest.”

Jeh perked up immediately. “Oooooh…”

“Prepare yourselves for the tale… of the Sealing of the Sky.”

~~~

The Sealing of the Sky

The Tempest spins eternal, forever unchanging, forever unmoving, entirely surrounding us with the Wall. The Wall angrily strives to strike us with its lightning of anger and its winds of destruction, but the Wall is powerless to reach us, for the light of the Sky keeps it at bay. In the day, the Sun burns away the storm, and in the night the Moon freezes all that would dare approach us.

Still, the Wall seeks our end, as it always has, since time immemorial. Some say the world used to be larger, and the Wall further away, and that over time it has devoured more and more of the great sea. But so long as we can see the sky, we are protected, and we have no need to worry.

However, it is said that there was a time, not all that long ago, when the sky was taken from us.

The Skywatchers were the first to notice the dimming of the Sun. They raised alarms, though they did not know what it meant. The seers shouted portents of doom and portents of blessing in equal measure. Those who declared the dimming of the sun a blessing were to be executed for their lies afterward, for to be a false seer is among the worst sins a man can commit. On that day, it was even worse even than that, for those who believed the false seers did not prepare themselves for the worst.

The sky continued to darken. Blues were replaced with oranges. The light of the sun became red like blood. The heat of the day left us, becoming the cold of the night. And then it went even beyond that, blocking out everything until all was pure darkness. The only light came from our homes and the storms of the Wall itself.

The Sky had left us, utterly and completely. We were alone.

Those who had prepared were ready for the Wall to begin closing in. All boats had been recalled, and everyone had locked themselves in their homes. And yet, the Wall did not close in, it remained precisely where it was, unchanging. To this day we know not why it did not approach—perhaps the Sky had not truly abandoned us, or perhaps in order to move the Wall needs to have the way forward prepared.

From the Wall emerged the monsters. Sailing on great ships of black, they came, somehow floating despite the great torrents of the storm from which they came. The monsters looked like us but had eyes of darkness and hands that shot lightning.

They came to destroy. Those who had believed the seers who claimed blessings were slaughtered first, for they were out in the open, not protected, not hiding. Their fields were burned, their wives stolen. The monsters never spoke, yet moved as though they were an army, taking out any who offered organized resistance with ease. There was nothing we could do against the storms in their hands. Many brave men who went to fight despite the warnings lost their lives for nothing, for not a single monster was felled.

It was only the act of the Guardian Spirit that saved us that day. She emerged from the sea, throwing the monsters aside with a single wave, where her servants devoured them one by one, staining the waters red with their blood. Many of our people were washed away with the monsters, sacrificed for the safety of us all.

The monsters did not relent even in the face of her power. Death of their fellow beasts did not deter them in the slightest. They continued fighting down to the very last. No matter how many the Guardian Spirit slayed, those who remained continued to slaughter, seeking out as many of us as they could, seeking absolute extermination.

But the power of the Guardian Spirit was greater. She found every last one of the monsters and fed them to her servants. Not a single bone was left when she was done—and then she turned to the invading ships.

The moment she approached, the sea rumbled and boiled. Cast only in the light of the Guardian Spirit and the Wall’s storms, the king of monsters emerged from the depths. A horrid being, far larger than anything we could comprehend. Scales the size of houses, eyes as large as islands, and teeth of mountains. It only needed to take its head and neck out of the water to rival the size of the Wall itself. If it were to have emerged fully, it would have filled the entire world, Wall to Wall.

The Guardian Spirit did not move, and neither did the king of monsters. The two stared at each other for the longest time above the blood-drenched sea.

We all held our breaths. For a moment, we doubted our Guardian Spirit could even face such a behemoth. We felt that the seers were right not just in the general sense they usually are, but in an absolute sense. We were at the end, the Wall was going to devour the last of us.

But then the king of monsters returned beneath the waves. Whatever ships remained went back into the Wall.

With that, the Sky returned. The moon was in the sky, and the stars shone down on us.

The Guardian spirit returned to her dwelling, and we were left—alive, but broken. Blood stained the streets. The waters were not clear for days. There were so many dead they could not be counted. But we lived.

However, our view of the world changed that day. The Sky can, on any day, be darkened. There are monsters that serve the Wall and seek our utter annihilation. And then there was the king of monsters. There are those who say the Guardian Spirit did not defeat him, but made a deal with him—a deal made out of desperation, for he was something beyond even her.

Surely that is just an overreaction. Surely her victory was absolute.

For she was all that saved us that day.

~~~

“…An eternal storm…” Envila said, eyes wide. “I… when Jeh told me of the Tempest, I don’t think I realized what precisely that meant.”

Vaughan nodded. “It’s a real place, I spent a fair amount of time there. Now, the Wall’s not some kind of evil being bent on destroying everything, it’s just a storm, but for the people within it kept them sealed off entirely from the outside world.”

“I fully intend to go there on my journey around the world.”

“Booking passage will be expensive, the boats have to be designed to handle the intense storms,” Vaughan said. “But it is doable.”

Envila nodded. “How much of that story was legend?”

“Most of it, we suspect,” Vaughan said. “Those of us who were there theorized that it was a combination of three events that happened at different times—a volcanic eruption, an invasion from outside, and a tall tale spun from the discovered carcass of a leviathan, though naturally they exaggerate the size.”

“…I note the Guardian Spirit is not on that list.”

Vaughan smirked. “Oh, she’s real. I even met her. No idea what she is, but she’s definitely been part of the Tempest for as long as their history goes back. Which isn’t very far, they didn’t have writing until it was introduced to them from outside.”

“Fascinating. I’d very much like to hear more, later of course.” She turned to smile at everyone. “This is story time, after all.”

“Surely you have a story?” Jeh asked Envila. “Something… creepy?”

“…Perhaps.” Envila thought for a moment. “How about… a tale told to me when I was a child, one that predates the Second Cataclysm. The tale… of The Little Unicorn.”

~~~

The Little Unicorn

Our tale begins with words of the divine.

“Little Unicorn,” the Unknown Goddess spoke to her servant, as she almost never did. “You have a great purpose to your life, an action only you can take. Go forth, and accomplish your destiny.”

“Of course, my Goddess,” the little unicorn said, despite knowing nothing at all about what her purpose or destiny actually was, she took to it with devotion. She set out into the world to find out what her purpose was, doing everything she thought could possibly be it. She set herself against evil emperors, monsters of the forest, and whatever other evil she could, seeking to please her Goddess. And yet, nothing she did seemed to her to be her purpose, despite all the good it was clearly doing.

On her journey, she gained a few companions. One was an old wizard who sought the secrets of the world, and the other was a defiant man devoted to the freedom of all. Together, the three of them spread across the world. There was no foe too large or small for them to take on, no challenge too great or trivial. They became legends, celebrated heroes the world over.

As time went on, they vanquished more and more evil, purging it from the world bit by bit. Nothing hid from them, and they became more and more celebrated. Until, eventually, the last of the great foes was defeated, and evil was on the decline. They, as the heroes, were offered positions of power and honor to lead the world into a new era.

The little unicorn did not take it, she vowed to continue searching for her purpose. Perhaps it was to rid the world of all evil, including the smaller evils, so she went on further journeys. Her friends, however, did take their rewards. The wizard went to explore the great unknown where no one had ever set foot, and he was never heard from again. The rebellious man was made king of the world, and with his power, he made sure people were as free as they possibly could be.

However, spirited are fickle beings, and when given freedom they will abuse it. The rebellious man sought a world where no laws told people who they could and could not be, but without any laws murder and theft run rampant, so he had to keep such legal codes. However, he used his resources to phase more and more of the laws out over time, allowing people more and more freedom as they could handle it. He wanted to give everyone what they wanted, always.

While the little unicorn sought to end evil and fight for the weak, the rebellious man continued to shape the world into a place of true freedom. However, the proud desire in all to be better than others proved a problem for him. Everyone had, at some point, a true desire to harm another, be it physically, emotionally, or just socially. As the people were provided everything else they were asked for, they became deeply upset that they couldn’t have those things. After all, if they could simply wave their hand and have a golden statue of themselves brought over, why couldn’t they ask for their neighbor to never get a golden statue of any kind?

The people did not want to be the same, each of them wanted to be better than the others. Which was a desire the rebellious man could not fulfill, and what drove the conflicts the little unicorn had to resolve for so, so long.

The rebellious man eventually came up with a solution. He could give everyone what they wanted—so long as it was a lie. Every desire, acted upon, but if it should be harmful to another… well, then they would just be given an illusion. A fake. A fake that they would never know was fake. Those who wished to slaughter millions were given millions to slaughter, believing it was real the whole time. Everyone could be better than everyone else, for they became gods of their own little worlds.

Over time, this led to people becoming more and more separate from one another, living alone in a place that catered to their every whim. There were exceptions, of course, such as the little unicorn herself, the rebellious man, and others required to keep the system running as it was.

As this continued, people became worse and worse in their land of no consequence. Why not murder? Why not pillage? Why not be as horrible as you possibly could be to everything and everyone you encountered? The world revolved around you, after all. Clearly, you deserved it.

The little unicorn saw this as she traveled, moving from fake world to fake world. Her job became less and less necessary as it was more and more impossible for people to actually hurt each other, for they could never really touch another person. All she got to do… was watch. Watch what happened to people as they, with absolute freedom, became something truly disgusting.

She decided she’d had enough. She went to confront her friend, her friend of untold years who had saved the very world with her. Her friend who controlled the entire system and was absolutely devoted to his ideals. The people were free, and no one was being harmed. In his mind, the world was perfect. It was only he who was not free, for he was held to manage everyone from above, and he believed this sacrifice was worthwhile to make for everyone else.

The little unicorn disagreed and, in that moment, she understood why she had been given the blessing of the Unknown God. It was so she could be here, right now, confronting her friend. For, in a sense, she was the only person in the world who was truly free—not free in the sense that she could do anything she wanted, but free in the sense that she was allowed to see the entire picture. To understand what it all meant.

She was here in this moment to end it all.

With tears in her eyes and a deep wail, she cut her friend down, breaking everything he had built.

The world was consumed in darkness.

But, from the darkness, people emerged. And, over time, the darkness within them was pushed back. There was suffering once more, there was death, and there was great evil that rose from the ashes.

But people… were people once more.

~~~

“That sounds like a Second Cataclysm story,” Blue observed. “Which is odd… since you say it predates that.”

Envila nodded. “The similarities are very curious, aren’t they? And yet, this story was old when it was first told to me all those years ago. I used to think it was actually a story of the First Cataclysm—and yet, it shares no similarities with the other stories about that time, which always feature the death of the Great Crystalline Ones.”

“A lot of it is… confusing,” Margaret said. “How can you convince everyone in the world that they can have whatever they want?”

Envila shrugged. “I believe many details are exaggerated, much as with Vaughan’s story of the Tempest. In fact, for all we know this story isn’t based in reality at all and was just made up. I cannot say. I do think there really was a little unicorn, though, and that little unicorn was brought to a situation where she had to kill her old friend for the sake of the many. That story… that story I think repeats itself across time, over and over again.”

Seskii looked unusually contemplative. “Yeah… it does. Again… and again.”

“…Seskii, did I touch a chord in you somewhere?”

Seskii nodded. “I could just… feel that one, y’know?” She chuckled. “Struck me right in the heart, couldn’t get it out. Like an arrow!” She mimicked being shot by an arrow and falling back.

The wild child was concerned by this, suddenly standing up.

“Oh no no no, don’t worry!” Seskii said, waving her hands. “I’m fine, it was just a joke!”

The child calmed down and everyone started laughing.

“You know…” Blue said, tilting her head. “You all are telling stories that are basically ancient legends.”

“Mine wasn’t that old…” Mary huffed.

“Well, yes, but there are new stories as well! …Though, those books generally aren’t distributed outside of Axiom…” Blue scratched her chin. “Eh, doesn’t matter really, while I was in Axiom I got access to the books of a storyteller by the name of Yevnii Drake, who writes stories about a slime detective by the name of Gilligan Glop. I’ll say up front, there’s no legend associated with this aside from the work of investigators in Axiom itself. Gilligan Glop has worked many a successful case, finding murderers using unusual magics, uncovering careful fraudsters, and tracking down missing people even if they don’t want to be found. But there was one day there was a case that shook him to his bones… …yes I realize slimes don’t have bones, don’t judge me, I’m telling this story…”

~~~

Gilligan Glop and the Eyes in Twilight

Detective Glop was doing what he normally did when he didn’t have a case to work on—he was walking around the outskirts of Axiom, just taking in the scenery. He really liked to see both the allure of nature and the city at once. Many people on this path recognized him and waved to him as he went by, or struck up conversation with him, asking how his last case had went—which was well, on this particular day.

He was in extremely high spirits and was really looking forward to the sunset. The sky was clear and it promised to be a beautiful one.

Then, however, everything grew dark, and not in the usual way night falls. He was walking, not a cloud in the sky, the sun approaching the horizon… and then the darkness approached. The light of the sun went out. He ruled out the obvious—it wasn’t a storm front, and it wasn’t ash. He heard a low, guttural sound, and then in the midst of the darkness he saw the eyes. Three of them, piercing red, that looked right at him.

Then they vanished. The darkness left. And in front of Glop was a dead body.

He had it taken back. It was identified as Riinof Barskon, a green gari farmer who lived nearby. He had a devastated wife, but no children. There was no overt sign of the cause of death, but when the people at the morgue talked to Glop about what they found, they said it looked like his brain had melted from the inside out.

Glop’s first theory was that this was an attribute of an as-of-yet unknown spirited, so he turned to the archives, looking for anything describing the three eyes and the darkness. Such a spirited had never been recorded before—three eyes were extremely rare, and none of the spirited with them had associations with darkness. Nonetheless, he did begin his investigations there, interviewing any three-eyed spirited he could.

The problem was, while some of them were potentially dangerous, none of them had red eyes. At least none of them that were publicly known. He was beginning to wonder if this was one of those spontaneous murders—done without a plan, without a motive, and without reason from point A to point B, and that there would be no signs of anything.

However, as he was interviewing a very nervous-looking three-eyed woman, just as the sun was setting, the darkness returned. The three eyes appeared—not those of the woman, definitely not, and the growl did not sound like anything the three-eyed spirited he’d found could make. He tried to move to get closer to the eyes in the darkness, but they backed away from him.

The darkness faded, and the individual he was interviewing was dead.

He immediately suspected this was some kind of cover-up. She had known something that he wasn’t supposed to know. So he checked for her name—Hykkner Stakrim, descendent of a migrant all the way from Vraskal who had fled persecution. Her particular race was known to be able to read minds, and Vraskal was very distrusting of that. Kroan was as well, but to a lesser extent. If the killer was of the same race, perhaps there was some resentment there? A descendant of a migrant who had not known how horrible it had been in Vraskal and thought the snubbing in Kroan was so atrocious it was worthy of revenge…

Except there was no connection with Riinof Barkson, his wife insisted she hadn’t even known three-eyed spirited existed. If it was a split-hair decision, that meant Riinof had to have been talking to the killer near the time of the murder, and Glop knew that wasn’t true since he had been in the area when it happened. To add icing onto the cake, every single member of Hykkner Stakrim’s family was accounted for, either dead and buried in a marked grave or living. Most troublingly, not a single one had red eyes, their family just didn’t have it in them to produce such an eye color, and they were almost entirely unable to mix with the local population due to their race being so rare.

So that was a dead end. But it wasn’t like information wasn’t gleaned—it was likely Hykkner was related to it all somehow, but it wasn’t her family. She must have just known. Perhaps, out of desperation, she formed a connection with a three-eyed spirited that wasn’t her species? Possible, but there were already so few, it didn’t seem likely.

Still, he investigated, and then it happened again. While he was talking to a troop of Royal Guards about the oddities of this case, the darkness returned, and so did the eyes. Glop tried to learn as much as he could, rushing forward, pulling back, listening. The roar was what he focused on the most—what sort of creature could even make that sound? It was the same every time. Exactly the same.

The darkness cleared, and one of the royal guards was dead, Anthony Baker. It was at this point Glop noted that the killings had nothing to do with the victims, but rather had to do with him. He was the common element in every scene, so it had to have something to do with him. He was being targeted, but not killed. Why? And did the fact that it always happened around sunset mean anything?

He decided to perform an experiment. He know how to cover his trail in a way no one would find it, it was a trick he had picked up from tracking down so many people over the years. So he covered his tracks, went underground, and hid himself in an abandoned building when twilight rolled around. This time, there was no darkness around him, nothing.

When he emerged, there had not been a murder that night.

So he resolved to always hide himself away before twilight so that no others would be killed, but he still needed to track down the killer.

He went down the list of people with grudges against him—there was a stupendously large number, but he was able to overrule most of them as too stupid to pull something of this caliber off, or not having the capacity to do such a thing. From what information he had, he made a few deductions. He was the target of this, and whoever it was didn’t want him to find it, so they were probably being very careful and might even have some scapegoats set up. In this case, it was very likely he was being purposefully misled. The three-eyed spirited felt like a wild goose chase because it was; a trick to lead him in the wrong direction. The roar was the same every time, so it was likely fake. The eyes… he had never been permitted to get close to them either, they and the darkness could have been an illusion.

And the method of death—melting of the brain from the inside.

He deduced that he was looking for a Purple wizard, or at least someone very skilled in Purple magic.

After he did this, though, another murder occurred. Of his favorite errand boy. Unlike all the other murders, there was a note attached to him. This is what you get for refusing to play. One will die every night you hide yourself.

Glop knew that every day he failed to solve the case, another life would be lost, no matter where he was or what happened. So he went to the Purple tower in the Academy and interviewed everyone on how such a killing could be done. The Purple wizards could explain the unusual darkness and the red eyes—advanced, but not all that creative, illusions—as well as the baking of the brain. Those who were extremely talented with Purple could focus multiple light sources on a single point, bursting it into flames. One could imagine focusing the light through the ear and into the skull cavity with precision. However, it would take essentially a grand wizard or the equivalent to do it.

This suggested a master Purple Wizard. So Glop threw that idea out immediately—the killer was one specifically trying to fool him, he would not use a murder method that would point to him, he would use one that pointed to someone else. So Glop was looking for someone with the skills of a grand Purple wizard who was nevertheless not one. However, the killer would need to know enough to know how a master Purple wizard would kill people.

The sound, it turned out, was the key. There was no sound magic. But there was one Color that could mimic it, Orange, by creating hyper-precise vibrations. The roar was repeated in the exact same way every time—thus it must have been from an arcane device of some kind. There were no sound-playing devices on the market, so it had to be custom-built.

This led him to the Orange tower, where he did in fact find a few wizards who could create sound devices. He asked for a list of all Orange wizards who were also known to use Purple, even if it was just as a “hobby.”

The sunset was approaching. He needed to be quick. He ran through the names as quickly as he could, trying to think with what little information he had about who would be behind this. None of his enemies were here. He had never seen any of them before in his life.

And then he came to the name Karro Alton, and he knew. He went up immediately to Karro Alton’s office, making sure that other wizards present knew where he was going.

Karro Alton had the appearance of a kindly old man; human, but hunched so much one tended to second-guess that conclusion. He looked to Glop with kind eyes and a wide smile.

And Karro congratulated him. He solved the mystery. He really was as good as they said.

Glop rarely got the killers to confess the moment he found them, so he was confused. But in the next few seconds of silence, he put the full picture together. Karro was old, extremely old, and he had a terminal disease that would kill him in a few weeks at this point. As a researching Wizard in his twilight years, he realized he had nothing to lose by trying to answer questions through unethical means—after all, he was about to die, and if he was caught, nothing would really change for him. There were no consequences. He had actually performed quite a few dubious experiments over the last few months, Glop’s was merely one of them. Karro had heard of a legendary detective who could solve any murder, and so had specifically sought him out in order to give him a true test. Could he track down a murderer who had no connection to anything in the case whatsoever? One who was purposefully being misleading in order to give Glop a challenge?

Karro had killed those people because Glop existed and for no other reason. There was no personal vendetta, no revenge plot, nothing but the desire to see if Glop could really do it.

Karro made no resistance to arrest. He admitted to everything wholesale, with a smile on his face and no hint of shame. He kept praising Glop for his amazing skills.

But when Glop went to sleep, he thought of the four dead people.

Only dead because he had gotten a reputation as a perfect detective.

Had he not been here, they would still be alive. Who knew if, in the future, more would die simply because he existed…?

~~~

“Hmm, a curious puzzle,” Envila said. “I note you kept out the final piece of information that led him to Karro.”

Blue nodded. “It’s more dramatic if you don’t have the final piece of information, especially since this story wasn’t exactly intended to have you figure out who did it, the puzzle was more about the motive—after all, Karro doesn’t even make an appearance until the end.” Blue sat back. “Most of Glop’s other mysteries are solvable early on, but this one was the most suspenseful that I could think of.”

“There is one problem with the story, though,” Vaughan said.

“Oh?” Jeh asked.

“Slimes don’t have eyes, how could he know the eyes were red, or see the darkness?”

Blue chuckled nervously. “Uh… the author admitted that when he started the stories he had never actually met a slime. His early works are filled with a lot more holes like that…”

“I can see that being a very real danger, though,” Margaret said. “If you make yourself the best at something, there will be those who seek to challenge you just for the sake of it. And if you are the best at solving murders…”

“The best scares have a little bit of truth to them,” Seskii said. “Sure, monsters are terrifying and all, but if a story can get you to be afraid in your day-to-day life because of something that’s real… oh, that’s really how it’s done.”

“Then how about you tell us your story?” Vaughan asked.

Seskii grinned. “Oh? You want a story from me? Well, I’m flattered…” She leaned forward, grinning. “Have this short piece.”

Everyone leaned in, listening closely.

“You have heard many stories tonight about monsters in the woods, about forbidden knowledge, about great tragedies, about destined betrayals, and of avoidable death. But we all know we’re safe, after all, none of these things are really true stories. They are the sorts of things we tell around a fire to exhilarate ourselves. We jump in fear, then we laugh, and become more in tune with our spirits.

“Just harmless fun.

“However… what if it wasn’t? We have seen that parts of these stories have truth to them, elements of legend, historic events twisted through an unusual lens… such things could truly happen if the situation was right. If there really was a detective named Glop, if there really was a king of the monsters, if there really was a monstrous forest of dead trees.

“Tell me, if you actually encountered such things, would you be very surprised? No? Of course not, because that is the world we live in. A world where the things of legend and stories… are just there.

“What if, my friends, what if that were literal? What if there were something watching us, taking in the stories we tell… and making them real? What if the very world we inhabit is nothing more than the stories we have told, and that the great tragedies of history are all because of a bunch of friends around a campfire spinning tall tales?

“Somewhere in the past, there could have been a bunch of friends around a campfire, spinning a horrific tale about a spirit who wanted to be seen by no one and killed all those who saw her face. A spirit of the mountain, a Purple spirit shaped like a cube. What a story that would be to tell, huh?

Seskii let out an ominous giggle. “And sure, you all say this sounds ridiculous, that it is the events that come first and the legends after… but how can we be sure of that? How can we be sure… that we are not perpetuating the cycle of suffering by telling stories anew, right here, right now?

“The worst part is… even if we stopped, there are thousands of people doing the exact same thing we are doing right now across Ikyu. There’s nothing any of us can do to stop them all. So as long as people walk upon Ikyu, stories will be told, legends will be born, and great evil will be crafted from the imaginations of the spirited who just wanted to have a fun night.”

Everyone stared at Seskii with wild eyes, utterly speechless.

“I’ll take that as a win,” Seskii said, taking a bite of her flame-cooked meat.

“…That is a truly terrifying thought,” Envila said, blinking. “I applaud you, Seskii.”

“Thank you! I’m here all night!” She grinned. “For the record, and so all of you can sleep tonight without turning your brain in knots, no I don’t think the stories we’re telling will go on to define reality.”

“But as you yourself said, we can’t know,” Envila said.

“You’re right, you can’t know.” Seskii winked. “Oh well!”

At this point, the wild boy stood up and let out a big yawn.

“Oh, are you all tuckered out from my little existential nightmare seed?” Seskii asked.

The boy didn’t understand her and turned to walk back into the forest. He waved at them before vanishing.

“…Guess we don’t have to worry about what to do with him,” Blue said, yawning. “Wow… how late is it?”

“Dunno,” Jeh said. “Late enough to sleep.”

“You never got to tell a story though.”

“I spent my entire life in a forest being completely invincible, the only stories I know are ones people around this fire have told me.”

“Oh, right.” Blue patted Jeh on the head. “Well, good night then!”

There were a series of good nights, and then they put out the fire and went to sleep, absorbing the events of the night into their minds. None of their stories would be forgotten, not a one.

~~~

SCIENCE SEGMENT

It was a bonus chapter today, no science, only stories! It was mentioned that you guys wanted to see some fiction from the world, but only Blue’s story really fits that description. On Ikyu, the idea of writing fiction in novel form is somewhat new, they mostly have tall tales and legends, only civilized areas like Axiom have proper fiction in them.

In our world, the first novels were published in the 1700s, and I’ve been using a general timeframe of around 1600 for the development of Ikyu, around the time of Galileo’s life. Keep in mind magic does mean they miss some obvious technologies and get access to others much easier, but it’s the ballpark I use.

I myself went camping as a kid a lot and have a lot of fond memories around a fire, but we weren’t the sort to tell creepy stories that often, we mostly told silly stories, anecdotes, or just talked about strange things. So, sadly, I don’t have any real-world creepy tales to place here, alas… but if you want to share your campfire stories in the comments, well, why not?